


Bad Touch

by derryderrydown



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: Johnny bowed to Sensei Kreese with the rest of the class, and he was turning away, wiping sweaty hair from his eyes, when Kreese purred, "Not you, Mr. Lawrence."
Relationships: John Kreese/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Bad Touch

"Class dismissed."

Johnny bowed to Sensei Kreese with the rest of the class, and he was turning away, wiping sweaty hair from his eyes, when Kreese purred, "Not you, Mr. Lawrence."

Adrenaline surged, fear and excitement and anticipation. There were only ever two reasons Kreese held him back, and there was never any tell which it was going to be.

Maybe he was going to get a private lesson, Sensei Kreese guiding him through moves with a speed and precision that were too advanced for the rest of the class, leaving Johnny exhausted and centred and ready to move the earth for Sensei Kreese.

Or whether he was going to be told - reminded - that he was useless, a waste of space, an embarrassment to the dojo, that he needed to work harder, be better, being sent to the mat again and again, until Johnny was exhausted and broken and ready to move the earth for Sensei Kreese.

So he barked, "Yes, sensei," and snapped back into place, staring into the mirror, fists in front of hips, the way Sensei Kreese had drilled him years before. He ignored Dutch's envious look, Tommy's murmured, "I'll tell Ali why you're late," and stayed in position until the dojo was empty of everything but him and Sensei Kreese and the fading light.

"Why are you here, Mr. Lawrence?" Sensei Kreese asked.

Johnny tried to keep his confusion off his face but could tell from Sensei Kreese's expression of scorn that it showed. "To learn the Way of the Fist, sensei!" he said, and it was the wrong answer.

"Fifty push-up on your knuckles."

That was easy enough after years of training, so he dropped, did the push-ups, felt his muscles working like they _should_ , like he'd spent years working for, and he wasn't even out of breath when he jumped back to his feet. The physical stuff was so simple.

"Why are you here, Mr. Lawrence?" Sensei Kreese repeated.

He could feel his heartbeat speeding up, the worry getting to him, and he took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down. "To become the best I can be, sensei!"

"Fifty sit-ups."

Damn it, why couldn't he understand what Sensei Kreese was asking? But he did the sit-ups, Sensei Kreese's dry, dusty feet anchoring his own as he worked, and he jumped back up, resuming his position in front of the mirror.

"Why, Mr. Lawrence, are you here? Right now?" Sensei Kreese's disgust showed through.

Johnny swallowed hard. "I don't know, sensei!"

"You're here because, God help me, you're the best this dojo has."

He was waiting for a response, but there was nothing Johnny could say except, "Thank you, sensei!"

"And I'm going to make you better."

"Thank you, sensei!" Damn it, he still didn't know if this was going to be a lesson or a punishment.

"Fighting position, Mr. Lawrence."

And by the end of the session, he still didn't know. His nose was bleeding, he could feel bruises blooming across his ribs, his shoulder ached in an unfamiliar way, and he had to concentrate to avoid limping on his left leg. He'd spent more time on the mat than on his feet, and he wasn't sure he'd landed a single blow, but Sensei Kreese had laid a heavy hand on his aching shoulder and said, "Not bad, Mr. Lawrence."

Johnny bowed, and said, "Thank you, sensei."

"Hit the showers."

Johnny's gaze flickered towards Sensei Kreese. There weren't any showers in the dojo. They left sweaty and dirty and proud of the evidence of their labour. "Sensei?"

"The shower in my office. You don't want to show up for your hot date looking like that, do you?" There was a layer of scorn over 'hot date', and Johnny flushed.

It wasn't that Sensei Kreese didn't approve of dating. He did. He just didn't approve of getting too involved with a girl, of letting her get to you, get between you and karate. Ali didn't approve of karate getting between her and Johnny.

"Thank you, sensei," Johnny said, grabbed his bag, and headed for Sensei Kreese's office.

The shower was tucked at the back, a plastic curtain all that divided it from the desk and filing cabinets.

It was a relief to strip off and step under the lukewarm spray. He stood with his face under the running water until the water was no longer coloured with blood, then used Sensei Kreese's soap to wash off the dust from spending so much time on his back on the mats.

He was quick, aware of encroaching on Sensei Kreese's territory, and it wasn't long before he was groping outside the shower for the towel that had been hanging there - and no longer was.

Shit. He must have knocked it off. He pulled open the shower curtain, and jumped to see Sensei Kreese sitting at his desk, going through paperwork.

Sensei Kreese held up the towel. "Looking for this, Mr. Lawrence?" Sensei Kreese asked, finally turning to look at him.

"Thank you, sensei," Johnny said, and stepped towards him.

"Not yet. Turn around."

"Sensei?"

"Turn around. I need to see how your muscles are developing."

"Yes, sensei." So Johnny stood there, staring at the folds of the shower curtain, goosebumps rising all over his skin, and he could _feel_ Sensei Kreese studying him.

"You're uneven. You favour your right side. Turn around."

This time, he stared over Sensei Kreese's shoulder, but he could see Kreese’s gaze moving, lingering, judging, and he could feel his face warming.

"Embarrassed, Mr. Lawrence?" Sensei Kreese sounded amused.

"No, sensei!"

"You shouldn't be. You're in good shape. What's your routine at home?"

"I run three miles a day. Three hundred push-ups, three-hundred sit-ups, three-hundred pull-ups."

"Introduce some one-armed push-ups."

"Yes, sensei."

"And how often do you jerk off?"

The words were like a punch. Even looking over Sensei Kreese's shoulder was too close, and Johnny stared at the door. "Sensei?"

"You heard me. How often do you jerk off?"

"Um. I guess." Jesus. What was the right amount to say? "I guess, every couple of days?"

"Are you getting laid?"

"Sensei!"

"That hot little bitch of yours. She putting out? At least sucking you off or giving you a handjob? Or does she just leave you hanging?"

"We- We haven't got that far yet, sensei."

"Jesus, Mr. Lawrence. You've been dating her since you were fifteen. You telling me you're a virgin?"

Johnny couldn't make himself answer.

"Are you a virgin, Mr. Lawrence?"

Johnny screwed his eyes shut. "Yes, sensei."

"What a waste. Dump the girl and get your cock wet, Mr. Lawrence. That's my advice."

"Thank you, sensei." 

"I hope you're at least good with your right hand."

"Sensei."

"Show me."

Johnny felt the words like a sucker punch to the gut. He risked a glance at Sensei Kreese, who was looking at him like this was an ordinary request, like _drop and give me fifty_ , like _warm them up, Mr. Lawrence_.

"Show me how you jerk off, Mr. Lawrence." A hint of irritation behind it now, like when Johnny just couldn't move fast enough, couldn't kick high enough, couldn't punch hard enough, and it was automatic to want to please Sensei Kreese, so Johnny's right hand dropped to his cock.

Jesus. He wasn't even hard. Couldn't imagine getting hard under Sensei Kreese's judging gaze. But he tried, starting with light, teasing touches, barely there, like Ali had touched him that one time.

"That the kind of pansy-ass touching you like, Mr. Lawrence?"

There was no pretending that was Ali's voice.

"No wonder you're a virgin if you can't even get it up."

_It's normally the opposite problem_ , Johnny wanted to yell. _My fucking sensei is fucking staring at me in a cold fucking office, and you expect me to be raring to go?_

"Very well, Mr. Lawrence," Sensei Kreese said, and for a light-filled moment, Johnny thought he was being allowed to go.

He wasn't.

Sensei Kreese stepped towards him, knocked Johnny's hand out of the way, and his hand was on Johnny's cock.

Johnny's brain froze. He wanted to shove Kreese's hand away. He wasn't a fag. This was his _sensei_. This was _wrong_.

But this was his sensei. He had to trust his sensei. He _did_ trust his sensei.

So he stayed still, arms by his sides, while Kreese’s hand, not as dry and rough as it should be, coaxed his cock into standing up.

There was lotion on Kreese's hand, Johnny realised numbly. He hadn't seen him put it on, so it must have been while Johnny was in the shower.

Kreese had planned this.

But _why?_

Johnny was hard now, Kreese’'s fingers tracing the line of his cock, thumb rubbing hard over the head, and it felt good, better than when he did it himself. The arousal was tingling down his thighs, up into his torso, and his breath was coming heavier, shakier.

He screwed his eyes shut, concentrated on the feeling of sure, deft fingers and warm palm enveloping him, driving him, pushing him.

He was getting close now, thank God, close to getting this over with, and that was when Kreese took his hand away.

Johnny gasped at the sudden loss.

"Now," Kreese said. "Show me."

Johnny couldn't open his eyes, couldn't look at his sensei's face. But he took hold of his cock with his right hand, jerked himself off, feeling the leftover lotion from his Kreese's hand make the movements easier.

"Is that all you do?"

What the hell else was he meant to do?

"Pathetic," Kreese said, and he was standing right in front of Johnny, close enough to feel the breath of his speech, and he pushed Johnny's hand away.

One hand was on Johnny's cock, the other reaching back to cup his balls.

"Spread your legs," Kreese said, and Johnny couldn't argue, couldn't say that, no, _this_ was too far, not after everything else, so he did, and Kreese pressed up _just right_ behind his balls, squeezed _just right_ around the head of Johnny's cock, and he came, shuddering, fighting not to curl into Kreese’s shoulder.

Kreese wiped his hand on Johnny's hip, leaving come smeared over skin still damp from the shower.

"Get dressed," he said, and stepped back. His smile was slow and heavy. "Don't want to keep your frigid little bitch waiting."


End file.
